Brothers Saved
by nightmares06
Summary: During an attack, Dean knocks Sam out of the way of a curse and finds himself dealing with more than he can handle on his own!
1. Chapter 1

"Oof!"

Sam hit the ground _hard._ The force of Dean slamming into him was like a linebacker tackling, and he went rolling several feet as he hit the ground, his slim ten-year-old body unable to absorb the impact like an older kid could.

An older kid like Dean.

The room was pandemonium as Sam stared up to see his older brother going for his gun.

"You'll regret that, you _bitch!_ " Dean snarled as he leveled the intricately carved silver colt at the witch that had appeared in their room.

Tall and elegant, harsh and cold, the woman merely smiled, raising her hand in tandem with Dean's. The moment they stopped moving together, Dean's finger tightening on the trigger, the room went white.

The last Sam saw before everything was overwhelmed in brightness was Dean's silhouette, black against the white and defiant to the end.

Then the light faded and Dean was gone.

" _Dean!_ " Sam screamed, flipping over and scrambling to his feet. A faint ghost of his brother's silhouette in his eyes was all that was left of the teenager, and even that faded as Sam blinked away tears of fear and uncertainty, alone with the witch.

The woman slowly turned in place to face Sam, an unpleasant smile gracing her face as she raised her clawed hand. "You boys are a handful for such young humans," she breathed, stepping over something that lay crumpled on the ground, like the shredded remains of Dean's shirt…

Sam blinked, unable to believe his eyes.

It wasn't a shirt.

No shirt they, or anyone, owned would have such precise plaid markings, and it certainly wouldn't have the smallest arm Sam had ever seen limply stretched out, such a familiar spike of dirty blond hair resting on the arm as though asleep…

The realization of what he was looking at crashed over Sam in bare seconds, and he pushed himself to his feet before the witch had finished her first step, charging her legs.

As Sam recklessly tossed himself at the ground, the locked and latched door of the _Trails West_ room they were staying at slammed open, the hinges in splinters from the force John Winchester hit them with. He stood there, shadowed by the bright sunlight outside, assessing the room in a flash.

"Sammy get down!" John thundered as he brought his gun to bear on the woman.

"No, Dean needs me!" Sam protested, squirming through the witch's legs.

There was no time to explain himself as she whirled around. A hand closed around the collar of Sam's jacket and hauled him up from the ground.

But not before his hands scooped under the doll-sized version of his older brother and brought Dean along with them.

Sam was only dangling in midair for seconds before the roar of a gun filled the room and he was falling.

He landed on his front with a grunt, unable to catch his balance with Dean precariously cradled in his hands. It took all of Sam's effort to _not_ tighten his grip on the slim, vulnerable body of his older brother in his care.

This was all _wrong._ Dean should never be vulnerable!

Then, a hand clamped around Sam's arm. He cried out, belatedly realizing it was John and not the witch. "Let's go!" John snapped, his gun panning around the room as he searched for the witch. During Sam's moment of inattention as he fell, she had vanished into thin air.

Sam had no response, stumbling along behind his dad and carried by the older man's force. All he could do was stare down at Dean's limp body, see the tiny head loll to the side as Sam was dragged out of there by their father.

"Dean," he whispered, a teardrop falling at last only to land on Dean's shirt and drench him.

* * *

"What happened in there?" John demanded as he gunned the Impala, aiming for the highway.

Sam shook his head, Dean held close to his chest like an anchor. "I- I don't _know,_ " he blurted in shame, feeling his ears turn red. He had no idea what had happened, but he knew that if Dean hadn't shoved him out of the way, that spell would have hit him instead.

So small. Sam brushed a finger down one of Dean's tiny arms, marveling at how soft the normally thick jacket was. Then, he lifted his older brother up, hesitantly leaning an ear over Dean as he realized he had no idea if his brother was even _alive_ after that attack.

"What's the matter?" John asked, his voice lowering as the adrenaline from the fight began to wear off. It wasn't lost to him that Dean was missing, and Sam was acting strange, but he needed to get his youngest as far from her as he could before he considered any other course of action.

Sam was silent, holding his breath as he listened carefully. There, just at the edge of hearing. A soft sound of a tiny breath. Sam pulled his hand away from his ear, and then held out his hand with reluctance so John could see what he was holding.

The car jerked to the side when John caught sight of just _what_ was in Sam's hand. Another car roared past, horns blaring and lights flashing. Sam clutched Dean close to his chest, paranoid that Dean might be sent flying by the car's erratic motions.

A minute later, they were parked on the side of the road with the four ways on. John stared blankly into the distance. He hadn't said a word since Sam held Dean out to him.

Sam busied himself making sure his older brother didn't look uncomfortable. This mostly meant he carefully nudged Dean to the center of his palm, letting his head rest on a cushion of skin and assuring that none of his arms or legs looked like they'd twisted into an uncomfortable position.

It was painful for Sam to realize that for all he knew, Dean had broken bones from the fight. He was so _small._

John took a deep breath, startling Sam from his older brother. Their eyes met.

"Sam," John said slowly. "Is that who I think it is?"

Sam nodded, blinking rapidly. "He… he pushed me out of the way of her attack," he mumbled, looking down at Dean. "Then…" Sam trailed off, having a hard time continuing.

John held out a hand. "Let me see."

Sam held Dean closer. "But… he might get hurt if we move him too much," he said.

John sighed, leaning over so he could take a better look. "Just… hold him out for me."

Extending his hands, Sam kept them cupped as though he held the most precious gem in the world. John looked over his older son, his brown eyes intent as his brow furrowed. He reached forward and nudged Dean's hand. The colt Dean had tried to defend himself with slid onto Sam's palm, a small speck of silver against Sam's palm. It might as well be a toy.

Sam wasn't the only one who looked terrified at the realization that Dean would be helpless on his own.

"He's breathing," Sam said. Dean was the one who'd taught him what to check if he ever found someone passed out. Since he was too big to take Dean's pulse, it had only left him one option. "But he hasn't moved since that lady attacked. The room got bright, and I couldn't see anything, and when it stopped, Dean had fallen to the ground."

He looked down. "This size."

John swallowed. "Right. Don't worry, Sam. We'll figure this out and get him back to normal. We're just gonna take a trip to Bobby's to get some backup.

"Keep an eye on Dean for me, will ya?"

* * *

After John finished checking Dean, the rest of the drive was silent. The radio was turned off, and the hunter often glanced in his rearview mirror. They took more turns than Sam remembered, and the trip to Bobby's was over two hours longer than it should have been, but he didn't care. He couldn't look away from Dean.

At one point, he was worried his hands were growing clammy. He fidgeted in place, until he saw how much each movement was affecting Dean where he lay prone. That was enough to make Sam freeze back up.

As the drive went on and the initial panic and fear began to wear off, Sam grew fascinated by the sight of Dean. Every detail was precise and perfect. If Sam squinted, he could make out a near-microscopic amulet resting on his older brother's chest. If he stayed like that long enough, he could actually make out the slight motion of Dean's chest as he breathed in and out in a steady rhythm, as though he was just asleep, no matter that gentle nudges to his shoulder had no effect.

Dean slept on.

When they reached Bobby Singer's home in Sioux Falls, South Dakota, Sam was bustled out of the car. John grabbed all the remaining supplies that hadn't been left behind in that motel room during the attack. Sam walked slowly to the front door, each step taken with a cautious gravity and focus that he didn't normally show. Usually he would have run on ahead, eager to greet Bobby and see what new cars were at the salvage yard out back.

"Hey, Bobby," John greeted as the door opened. One hand on Sam's shoulder, he guided his youngest into the house as Bobby stepped back to admit them, picking up John's mood just from the tone of voice. "We've got a problem."

The reveal of Dean to Bobby went as well as could be expected. His face turned white as he saw where the teenager lay. Sam looked up at him, hopeful that Bobby would give him a reassurance that he knew what was happening, that they would fix Dean and this would all be over and Sam would be back to looking up at his older brother.

Reassurance never came. Sam found himself sitting at the kitchen table with a hotdog left nearby and a puddle of ketchup while John pulled Bobby aside to talk where Sam couldn't hear them.

Sam caught a few scattered phrases as he sat there, unhappily spearing the hotdog with a fork and wishing someone had thought to put it all on a bun. He didn't want to risk doing too much so long as Dean was in his hand, and so far he hadn't thought of a way to put him down.

"-can't risk him-"

"There's no way Dean would-"

Sam chewed slowly, every sense in him tuned towards the hall by the kitchen. The voices were hushed and urgent. Things were bad. Bobby was never this upset.

"-never saw this before."

By the time he finished his food, Bobby came back into the room and the front door slammed shut as John stormed out. Bobby squatted down next to Sam, understanding in his clear blue eyes.

"Sam," he greeted evenly. "How you holdin' up?"

"I'm okay," Sam confirmed. His eyes fell. "But Dean-"

"Don't you worry about Dean," Bobby cut Sam off. "We're going to do everything we can to track that witch down and wring a cure out of her for what she did to him. You know no one can mess with your Dad when he's on a mission."

Sam nodded. "He can be scary when he's on cases."

"Right, but he's scary for the monsters, not for us," Bobby said with a smile. "What we need you to do is keep a close eye on Dean for us. Once I call up some friends of mine, we're going to head back to Haven. You remember how to shoot a colt?"

Sam's eyes were wide as Bobby held out a gun. It was older than Dean's, now resting in Sam's breast pocket so they didn't lose it, but there was no doubt in his mind that it would work like new. Bobby knew weapons better than John and Dean together.

"Dean let me shoot his when we had time," Sam breathed. Bobby let him take the gun and he hurriedly put it on the table.

"It's for you to use if you need to protect yourself and Dean, and that's it," Bobby said. "Watch yourself, alright?"

He mussed Sam's hair, leaving the young boy alone at the table, staring between the gun and Dean.

"Dean, please wake up and be okay," Sam said quietly.

* * *

Throughout the next week, Sam waited at Bobby's place. John and Bobby stopped in every few days to check up on him, and a few other hunters Sam recognized from stays in South Dakota drifted by. Some to help his dad, some just needing access to Bobby's library on the supernatural.

Aside from John and Bobby, Sam was to keep Dean a secret from everyone. As far as any other hunter knew, the witch attacked the two boys in the motel room and now Dean was missing. Bobby didn't want to risk any overzealous hunter assuming Dean was now dangerous because of his curse and attacking the boys while they were on their own.

Sam did manage to find a place to put Dean where he wouldn't get hurt. He took the pillow from his bed and cautiously slid Dean onto the white cotton surface. There, Dean was cushioned from any sudden jolts, and Sam had both of his hands free. He debated about where to put the pillow for an hour before deciding to place it on the center of the bed and curl up on the floor next to it in all the blankets. It wasn't the best, but it would do. Sam didn't want to risk Dean stumbling off the pillow and falling onto a hard surface and maybe getting hurt.

Dean stayed with Sam wherever he went in the house. He was afraid to leave Dean on his own. Anything could be dangerous, and in the warm summer, there were more than enough bugs and rodents around to be hazardous to the smaller Winchester.

Sam barely noticed the time pass that week. All that mattered was his brother was okay. He hovered close by, always checking to see any sign that Dean was rousing. The longer he slept, the more Sam worried that he would never wake. The thought came to Sam on more than one occasion that the shrinking caused by the witch was a distraction and a way to keep them from taking him to the hospital to get proper care while he was in a coma.

Then, on the seventh day, things changed.

* * *

Sam slept peacefully on the floor, sprawled out in the collection of blankets he'd slowly amassed from throughout Bobby's house. There were enough in the room to almost coat the floor by the end of the week. It was a comfort to have a place to burrow. For so long, he could steal into Dean's bed if he got nervous and curl up for security.

Now, Sam was the bigger brother, and had no one else to look to while John and Bobby hunted the witch.

The night was cloying in the spare bedroom. Motes of dust floated in the little light that made its way through the only window in the room, moonlight illuminating the bookshelf across from where Sam rested. His breathing had long ago evened out into sleep.

This meant he missed the motion that happened up on the bed.

Dean woke with a start, his pulse surging with adrenaline as consciousness returned for the first time since the fight with the witch. He sprang to his feet-

-and immediately tumbled to the ground, landing on the cushioned surface with a frown.

None of this lessened the urgency in him. He needed to get out, find Sam, find John. That was it. Sam was in danger. He couldn't remember from what or who, but he knew his little brother needed help _now._

Shifting so he was on his hands and knees, Dean crawled across the white surface, confused by how big it was. Surely there was an ending to this white cloud of-

His next hand landed on empty air, and Dean went tumbling head over heels down the rest of the pillow.

It felt like Dean fell down that slope forever, but in reality it was only a few drawn-out seconds before he landed with a start on a slightly firmer surface. The muffled curses that spilled out of Dean's mouth tapered off as he heard a sound in the distance. Like the steady breeze between the treetops, disrupted by the rush of an ocean.

Something was here with him, and from the sound of things, it was _big_.

Dean didn't waste any more time. As soon as he realized there was something horribly _wrong_ in his world, he was on his feet and running, trying to squint to see his surroundings and attempting to put as much space between himself and the thing as he could.

"Dean?"

The voice that sounded out of the blackness made Dean trip over a fold in the strange surface he was running along, and he went sprawling. "Sammy?!" he called out, his heart lurching as he realized his little brother could be out there in the darkness, facing this thing on his own.

He stubbornly ignored the way Sam's voice warped around him, the deep sound so out of place coming from his scrawny little brother.

There had to be an explanation for everything, there just had to be.

Something shifted from the side again, and it sounded like an entire warehouse of fabric was moving. Dean pulled out his knife, edging to the side and scanning the ground around him. _Gotta find Sammy and get out of here before it finds me._

"Dean, thank god you're okay."

"Sam where are you?" Dean called out, trying to zero in on his little brother's voice. It _sounded_ like it was coming from the same place as the massive gusts, but that was impossible.

It _had_ to be.

"I'm here."

Even the funhouse mirror style of Sam's voice was hushed as he spoke. The hairs on the back of Dean's neck rose. "What do you mean?"

A light snapped on, and Dean finally saw where he was.

* * *

Sam stared at Dean, and Dean stared right back at Sam.

It was like the world had frozen in that moment with the brothers' first view of each other.

Dean, standing alone on the bed. He was crouched in place, one hand clutching his silver knife and the other held out to keep his balance on the cushioned surface. Sam stood by the door of the room, his finger still on the light switch, his eyes wide at how _little_ Dean was.

A week of seeing his older brother crumpled and limp had helped prepare him, but Dean had no such preparation.

One foot edged backwards, and then another. Dean backed away from the giant form of his little brother, his breathing quickening as he took it all in. The bed, the window, the size of the door. The light overhead that might as well be the sun for all the good he'd do trying to reach it.

And _Sam…_

"W-who are you?" Dean shouted up at the giant in the room with him. "Where's my little brother?"

Sam gulped, his eyes full of water. "It- It's _me,_ Dean," he tried explaining. He took a step forward, planning on dropping to his knees to be back on the same level as Dean.

That was a bad idea. Dean leapt backwards at the step, almost falling on his ass when the bed didn't cooperate. The silver knife wavered, then his resolve strengthened. " _No,_ " Dean said firmly. "My brother's not a _giant!_ "

Sam had no comeback, and let his hands drop to his sides. Dean took this as the time to glance around, quickly plotting out the room around him. _Gotta find Sammy._ So long as the giant in the room wasn't grabbing at him, maybe there was time…

Then, a noise made him stop. Was that… _crying?_

Dean forced himself to look at the giant he'd woken up to. The kid had sunk to the ground and had his face covered, shoulders shaking. The sound of him crying sent a dagger through Dean's heart, like _he'd_ done it.

Before he knew what was happening, his legs carried him to the edge of the bed nearest Sam. That was when he realized that it _was_ his little brother there, as insane as this fever dream was. Sam was upset because Dean was _rejecting_ him.

"Sammy, hey," Dean said, his voice losing the icy edge from a minute ago. "It's okay. I'm here, it's gonna be okay."

Sam paused, peeking between his fingers. "You mean it?" he asked thickly.

Dean nodded. "Just like always. We'll figure it out. Whatever this insanity is."

Sam moved his hands down to his lap, staring at them as his fingers twitched with energy. His eyes were big and watery, but with a few gasping breaths, he started to come under control.

Dean forced a grin. "You've always got me watchin' your back," he promised, with no real idea what he was going to do now. Whatever had happened, he needed to look out for Sam, and he couldn't let his little brother down just because he wasn't so _little_ anymore.

* * *

I know a bunch of you wanted more tiny Dean, and I'm pleased to present (maybe) the start of a new AU! (or two)

This is the reverse of Brothers Together, where Dean gets hit with the curse instead of Sam, but Sam still manages to rescue his older brother at the very last second.


	2. Continuation

"Tell me everything."

Dean sat close to the edge of the bed, far enough away to avoid the vertigo looking down had caused him moments ago but close enough to stare expectantly up at Sam.

Nothing in Dean's voice gave away the fact that Sam towered over him while sitting.

Instead of sitting on the bed like his older brother, Sam leaned against it, putting his eyes only slightly above Dean's head. There was nothing but concern in those hazel pools, and that alone told Dean how serious things were.

Normally there'd be teasing. Banter. Good-natured jibes between the brothers that came as naturally as the sun rose. Instead, the tension in the air between them was so thick it could be cut with a butter knife.

Sam took a deep breath to steel himself, the humid breeze washing over where Dean sat. Dean refused to let any of his trepidation show. He was the oldest, therefore it was _his_ job to reassure _Sam,_ not the other way around. There was nothing else to it. Dean had spent his entire life looking out for the kid; that wasn't about to change just because he'd lost a few inches.

 _Okay, maybe more than a few,_ Dean admitted to himself like he would admit to no one else, watching Sam fidget in place. The kid could star in _Godzilla vs Mothra_ if he wanted to. _Still doesn't change a thing._

"You… you jumped in front of her attack," Sam said, softening his voice when he saw Dean flinch. "The room turned white, and when it stopped… you were gone."

Dean frowned at that. His own recollection from before waking up on the pillow at a fraction of his height was sketchy at best, but that light- an all-encompassing illumination- had haunted his dreams until it became his entire world.

"Dad broke the door down, and everything got real crazy," Sam went on, looking down. "Everything was loud, _she_ was trying to stop him… and I saw you. Just lying on the floor, barely a scrap of cloth. I… I almost didn't grab you. I didn't know it was you until I saw your hair."

"That's over now," Dean said sternly, drawing Sam's eyes back up to himself. Those huge hazels locked on him, making him stiffen in place.

Dean did what he could to suppress that instinct. This was _Sam._ They were still brothers. From the look on Sam's face, the last thing he had to worry about was being in any danger in that gaze.

"Yeah," Sam whispered. He took a deep, steadying breath and his voice was more solid as he continued. "When Dad hit her, her hold snapped, and I fell. I grabbed you, then Dad hauled me up and out of the room."

Dean didn't say a word, and he worked to keep any emotion from crossing his face, but he turned slightly ashen to hear how close it had come. Giants fighting, John tossing himself into the fray in his somewhat reckless manner- especially when it was _Sam_ in danger.

"We didn't think you'd wake," Sam trailed off. His fidgeting resulted in a hand reaching for Dean, then jerking back like he'd been burned. Remembering Dean's first reactions to him after waking.

Dean hauled himself to his feet, gesturing for Sam's hand. Sam hesitated, then put it down next to Dean. Instead of just touching it with a hand, Dean decided to lean on the hand like it was an offered seat.

"I'm awake _now,_ " Dean said, his tone kind for Sam. "You did what you had to do, and got me out of there. _That's_ what matters."

A smile edged its way onto Sam's face, and Dean knew he was getting through to him.

"Whatever happens, it happens to _both_ of us," Dean said firmly. A finger beneath him rose up, briefly nudging him off balance, but instead of falling over, Dean found himself sitting further on the back of Sam's hand. He snorted, then laughed out loud at how ridiculous it was. Dean Winchester, sitting on a _hand._

Sam joined in, his laugh deeper and more rumbling than it was before, but just as warm and kind.

As they tapered off, a different sound came, and Sam blinked in surprise.

Dean reddened, holding his stomach. "Do you have any food?" he asked weakly.

Sam's eyebrows went up as he held in a grin. "Sure thing. Bobby's got hot dogs in the kitchen," then snickered.

Some things never changed.

* * *

Back by popular demand! More updates to follow


	3. A Midnight Snack

Sam's free hand moved at Dean, and he found himself leaping backwards off the other hand to avoid the grab.

"Whoa!"

Sam froze in place, his eyes wide. There was no mischief hidden in those eyes, just concern and worry.

"You… you wanted food, right?" Sam asked softly. "That's downstairs. You…"

He trailed off, looking away. Dean followed his line of thought, inserting his own words into Sam's voice.

 _You need help getting there._

Dean's lips thinned into a line. True or not, he was wary of hands that were as big as his entire body. Sam could pinch him between two fingers if he got annoyed, and Dean could remember them arguing on more than one occasion. All it would take was Sam getting annoyed _one time,_ and those hands could turn on him.

 _They won't,_ a small voice whispered in the back of Dean's mind. _He still looks up to you and always will._

Dean wasn't interested in listening to such a voice, more concerned about his current predicament and how he'd manage to avoid being carried around like a doll. He held his hands up placatingly. "Can't you just… bring the food up here?" he offered with hope that Sam would go for it.

Dean was allowed that spark of hope for a few moments as Sam thought it over, then it all came crashing down as he shook his head in a negative. "Dad said I can't leave you on your own," Sam said. "That means you have to stick with me when I go downstairs."

Dean swallowed, growing more nervous at the reminder of _stairs._ Bad enough the bed was tall enough to be a building. Worse to imagine stairs that were _higher,_ and being _carried_ down them.

"N-no," Dean said shakily. "I'll wait here. I'll be fine."

The hand Sam had resting on the bed came to life, the larger-than-life movements catching Dean off guard and making him jump in surprise. Sam nudged Dean lightly in the side, almost playfully, though he was strong enough that his nudge almost sent Dean tumbling on the plush surface.

"Gonna live your life out on a _bed?_ " Sam asked, the humor not lost on him. "Dean, you've been sleeping for a _week_ and I haven't dropped you or let you get hurt. I _promise_ I'm careful."

Dean stubbornly stared down at the bed, refusing to meet Sam's gaze.

" _Please,_ Dean?" Sam pressed, this time resting his chin on the bed.

"It's not _about_ that!" Dean protested plaintively, turning around on his heel and walking away from Sam. He knew if he looked into those eyes there would be no saying no. It didn't matter that his strides were so small Sam could cross the distance in seconds. He just needed _space._

"Then what is it about?" Sam asked softly, hearing Dean's tiny stomach grumble again. It had to really be bothering him if he was ignoring food over it.

"It's just-" Dean ground to a halt. "Everything's so _big!_ " he complained, waving his hand over his head. "You, the bed… It's all so _high,_ and I can't _do_ anything now, not even get to the kitchen on my own!" He gulped as he tried to imagine just how far away that would be for him without Sam's help.

"I'll be careful, Dean, I promise," Sam swore, inching his hand closer to where Dean was standing. That tiny back stffened as though he could hear it, and upon reflection, Sam realized Dean probably _could._ "You're safe with me and always will be."

As gently as he'd ever done anything, Sam laid a fingertip on Dean's shoulder, determined to not knock him off balance but wanting to offer his support.

Dean's shoulder felt thin under Sam's touch, but the fabric of his shirt was soft, and after a moment Dean leaned into it. With Dean staring in the opposite direction and Sam keeping his touch light, they could pretend things were normal.

Dean sighed, then slumped. "Fine," he muttered, so quiet Sam had to strain to hear. Sam's face split into a grin as Dean turned to him. "You can carry me."

Before Sam could move to reach for him again, Dean jabbed out a hand, freezing him in place. "But!" he barked. "No sudden moves, no grabbing, and if I want off the Sam-coaster, you put me down! Capiche?"

Sam nodded. For this, he'd agree to anything. "Got it."

Taking his fingertip off Dean's shoulder, Sam flattened his hand on the bedcover next to Dean. "This work?" he asked hopefully.

Dean stared down at the hand. Looked at the fingers that could curl around his entire body, saw the twitch of the palm as Sam's pulse throbbed beneath the surface. "Perfect," he said to reassure Sam, though inside he was full of trepidation.

There was nothing left to it but to get in Sam's hand, and Dean knew it. Bracing himself, he stepped up onto the soft surface, nearly faceplanting as the skin moved under his boot. Sam's fingers twitched, and Dean glared at him.

"Sorry!" Sam said. "It… tickles." He blushed bright red.

Dean huffed in annoyance without a comeback. "Whatever." He walked to the center of Sam's hand and quickly sat down. "Just get it over with."

That was the end of Dean's control over the situation, and he knew it. Sam's fingers curled up, keeping his older brother in a bowl of flesh as he pushed himself to his feet. Dean clung to the thumb near him as the ground plummeted away, his face green at the thought of the heights.

Seeing this, Sam gently curled the thumb Dean was clinging to and covered Dean's lap, making it into a makeshift seatbelt. Beneath Sam's touch, those tiny legs shifted as Dean got into a better position, tugging the thumb tighter around his waist.

Sam had to hide a smile, recognizing the unthinking trust Dean had for him. It was enough.

Before he took a step, Sam also brought his second hand up to guard the edge for Dean, holding that hand against his chest. It gave the smaller Winchester a secure place to sit, especially as Sam went to take a step.

Dean's tiny body wavered as Sam's boot hit the ground, hugging the thumb around his waist tighter. Sam knew better than to tease him for that, realizing Dean was _actually_ afraid of what they were doing. If this didn't go well, Dean might refuse Sam's help the next time they needed to change room, and Sam dreaded Dean's reaction to someone else's hands. Their dad was their dad, but John could be heavy-handed with Dean's training.

"Heavy-handed" took on a whole new meaning with Dean now, and Sam was determined to shield him from what he could.

Sam carefully pushed open the door to the room, only taking his guarding hand for a moment to do so. Dean shrank against his stomach, and Sam bit his tongue to keep from saying a word and possibly bruising Dean's pride by pointing it out.

Another step.

Once they were over the threshold, it felt like it got easier with each step Sam took. He flicked on the light over the stairwell, then found himself wondering which would be worse for Dean- seeing where they were going and when Sam would start descending but also possibly spotting the height of the stairwell, or not seeing anything and not knowing when Sam was going down the stairs, but also guarded from the sight of the drop.

Either way, Sam didn't want to risk tripping on his way down, so the light stayed on.

The trip down went swiftly, and Sam made sure to not draw it out even when he felt Dean shrink down around his thumb.

"Almost there," Sam murmured reassuringly as they reached the ground floor, and his mouth twitched into a smile as Dean predictably punched his fingernail.

"I'm fine! Never better!" Dean protested his reassurance, but a bit of relief lurked in those defensive words.

The kitchen was only a few steps away now, and Sam quickly nudged the door with his boot, flipping on the light with an elbow so he didn't have to open his hand up again.

"Made it," Sam announced as he uncurled his hands and moved them to the table. Dean stumbled to his feet and dropped to his knees as soon as solid ground was under him, pretending to kiss the ground.

Sam rolled his eyes at the dramatics. "It wasn't _that_ bad!" he protested as he stood on his tiptoes to reach the hot dogs in the freezer.

"Says you!" Dean argued back, going to his feet again and pacing around the area. His old curiosity shone through as he investigated books that could be buildings and pushed around a pen that was three times his height.

Sam watched from a distance as he filled a pot with water, dumping three of the hot dogs into it and putting it on the burner like he'd watched Dean do before. Everything he did these days felt like he was mimicking Dean, trying to fill his brother's shoes.

Dean sat down with a huff on one of the books. "At least the ground doesn't _move,_ " he said, rubbing his head.

"I wasn't that bad, was I?" Sam asked worriedly.

Dean glanced up, the bridge of his nose pinched between two fingers. "Nah. Even the bed was getting old. Can't stand without it trying to toss me to my knees." He stomped his boot on the wood grain. "This is much better."

Sam grinned, heartened to hear it wasn't just him. "That's good. The hot dogs'll be done soon. Oh!"

Dean looked up at the sudden increase in volume.

"I almost forgot," Sam said apologetically. He reached into his pocket. "This shrank with you but it fell out of your hands."

He held his hand out to Dean, and Dean was drawn to his feet without thought. Sitting in the center of Sam's palm, almost lost in a crease in the skin, was Dean's colt. The gun entrusted to him by John, used to protect Sammy.

Dean didn't even think about the size of Sam's hand as he leaned a hand against the thick skin and reached over. The metal was warmed from its protracted time against Sam's warmth, but the familiarity of that metal, the touch of the etchings under his fingers, it all felt _right_ to Dean.

"I thought I'd lost this," Dean said wonderingly, shifting it to catch the light. Reverently, he sat down and started taking it apart, practiced movements as he checked to make sure everything was in working order.

"I've got some extra ammo in my jacket," Dean mused to himself as he snapped the barrel back on and sighted along his arm, taking care to never aim it at Sam. Small or not, the gun could still do damage. "Maybe enough to last until we figure this out and get me normal."

Sam smiled, sadness in his eyes as he remembered each time John or Bobby had checked in. Unsuccessfully.

"Yeah, Dean. Normal in no time."

The food finished quickly, and Sam once again found himself stretching to reach one of the pot holders Bobby kept by the sink. Dean stepped back on the table, closer to the center as Sam moved about the room, still adjusting to the sight of a giant like that.

"Ha!" Sam finally snagged the pot holder, snatching it from the wall. "Stupid thing."

He was going to need to either grow a few inches or invest in a stool to reach stuff around the kitchen.

"You show 'em, Sammy!"

With Dean cheering him on, Sam flushed red at the praise as he got a solid hold on the pot of boiling water, tipping it into a colander that was sitting in the sink, waiting for the hot dogs.

Five minutes later, Sam made it back over to the table in triumph with two plates and a bottle of ketchup. The first meal he'd done by himself.

Dean stepped over to the plate with one hotdog at the same time as Sam realized he'd forgotten one thing.

How was Dean going to eat a hotdog that was twice as tall as he was?

Dean was one step ahead of him. "Awesome!" he said, sitting on the lip of the plate and spearing the thick meat with a knife. "Mind giving me some ketchup?"

Sam obediently poured out a dollop of ketchup a few inches away from Dean, watching as his older brother sliced into the hotdog and quickly portioned it into pieces that Sam could barely see.

Sam was riveted watching Dean move. Such tiny, delicate movements that he'd miss if he looked away.

As such, it wasn't until Dean had begun eating that Sam started on his own, using his fork to cut pieces off. There were no hotdog buns in the house. Or lettuce or tomato. Bobby didn't exactly carry 'high class' meals, but it would do for what they needed.

When Sam took his first bite, Dean stiffened and angled himself so he wasn't looking directly at his brother. Sam froze, realizing that the piece of hotdog he'd just eaten was the size of Dean's torso, and his older brother was barely _bite-size_.

"You know you're safe, right?" Sam asked, breaking his promise to himself to not poke at Dean's pride. It was important for him to hear that from Dean. It was everything.

Dean glared, then looked away quickly again. "I _know,_ alright?" he said in annoyance. "I just… This entire thing's friggin' weird, give me some time!"

Sam slouched. "Okay."

Dean huffed. "It's not you, so don't go acting down on me!" he insisted. "I'm just… not used to anything like this." He stuffed a bite of meat in his mouth. "See?" he asked past the hotdog.

Sam had to muffle a snicker into the back of his hand at that. "Whatever you say, jackass."

Dean pointed his knife at Sam. "Better watch your mouth, bitch."

Sam rolled his eyes and instinctively ruffled Dean's hair. The spike bounced instantly back into place. "Jerk!"

* * *

 **A/N**

The journey of Dean's first day continues...


	4. Fighting Lessons

**A/N:**

Thanks to everyone that's keeping up with this random little AU! I'm writing these as the ideas come, so this story may jump around in the timeline quite a bit compared to my finished works! Each chapter will have its own timeline listed to help with any confusion, and thank you to mckydstarlight, goldacharmed, Icy Icee, sammygirl1963, Christine, beccalovesbumblebee, Stargazer100 and Dr Serpico for supporting this work so far!

 **Timeline:** Sam is 10, Dean is 14; the day after Dean wakes up for the first time.

* * *

"Did Dad show you how to defend yourself?"

Dean stood on the table in the kitchen of Bobby's house, his arms crossed tight around his chest. He was doing what he could to avoid showing how nervous he was here, surrounded by _everything_ looming overhead.

Including Sam, but the wide look in those hazel eyes was ground for Dean, keeping him focused away from how his little brother had turned into a _Godzilla_.

'N-no," Sam said, fidgeting where he sat.

For a moment, Dean wished their roles were reversed. It was fleeting, because he'd never want his little brother in harm's way, and having Sam full sized and uncursed meant Dean had done his job right, but it also meant that Sam was the one who would need to protect them if anything happened.

"Dad was too busy when they left," Sam told him. "He told me to keep the house shut tight and Bobby said go to the basement if anything bad happens, and keep you with me. Bobby gave me this."

From his jacket, Sam pulled out a gun. Dean stiffened, more from the sight of _Sam_ holding a gun than from the size of it. His little brother knew _how_ to shoot, but having Sam carry around a concealed weapon…

It just felt _wrong._

For so long Dean had tried to protect Sam from this lifestyle, and now it had risen up to consume them both in return.

Sam put the gun down on the table not far from Dean, and the surface shuddered under his boots. Instinctively, Dean ducked against the side of the nearby soda can, his small hands soaked instantly in condensation.

He was _not_ going to get used to that.

Sam drew away, worry dancing in his eyes for Dean's skittish reaction. Dean chose to pretend it never happened, strolling casually over to the gun.

Bobby kept all his weapons in good repair, and this one was no different. The cool metal gleamed at Dean as he reached into his own jacket, pulling out his trusty colt. The gun had been cursed with him, though he would never be able to restock the bullets inside or repair it. Eventually, there would be no way for Dean to use it and it would become nothing more than a curiosity.

 _Like me,_ shot an annoyed voice at Dean in his mind that he had to shrug off.

Dean held up his colt to the big one, comparing the sheer scale difference. It was a long moment before he tucked his away, always so fascinated, once he was past the shock, at how strange everything seemed after the curse took effect.

Turning sharply on his heel, Dean regarded Sam sternly, almost making the younger boy jolt to attention. "Shooting guns is one thing," he said, "but you need to know how to defend yourself when you don't have a gun, or if you lost it. Once Dad gets back, you need to ask him for some hand to hand combat lessons."

Sam stuck a lip out. "But I don't _want_ to learn from Dad!" he complained. "He's always so bossy, and he never _listens_."

Dean certainly didn't have any defenses against Sam when those big warm hazels were turned around on him. "Can't _you_ teach me?"

For a long moment, Dean stood there with a look of shock on his face. Normally, training Sam himself would be the _first_ thing he thought of, but now… Sam could pluck him up between two fingers. How could he possibly teach _combat?_

"S-Sam," Dean started uncertainly, "I don't think that's going to _work._ I mean, you're-" he gestured up at Sam and how he looked overhead even sitting down, "and I'm -" Dean stepped back to the soda can, cutting a hand across the condensation to display how he would never reach the top.

"So?" Sam blurted, then covered his mouth when the volume made Dean flinch. "S-sorry…" He hunkered his shoulders. "I just- you're _really_ good at teaching. If you just show me what to do… I learn fast, honest!"

Dean's eyes softened. Despite his protests, there was something warm and good inside his chest to hear that Sam still wanted him as a teacher.

"Sure, Sammy. Whatever you want."

Hours later, they could be found just like that. Dean standing on the table, showing off a combat move as best he could without someone to practice on, and Sam mimicking him.

Dean was proud to say that Sam was just as quick of a learner as he'd promised.

* * *

 **A/N**

These may be posted out of chronological order, so don't be surprised if future shorts revisit their first night, or jump ahead by years! I'm writing them as they come.

More soon to come; no exact release date


	5. Best Plan Yet

"It's so _hot!_ "

Sam looked up from where he was bent over a book, avidly reading his assigned summer lessons (only assigned because he'd _asked_ the teacher for work to do over the summer). A slight smirk hit his face when he saw where Dean was, sprawled out on the most shadowed area of the table in an attempt to soak up what he could of the cool surface, avoiding the sun like he lived all his life in a cave.

"It's _summer_ ," Sam pointed out helpfully, nudging Dean in the side with a pencil. "In _South Dakota._ "

Dean groaned, comically loud as he tried to squirm away from the intruding eraser. "Doesn't mean Bobby can't invest in some _air conditioning_ for once in his life!" he complained, pushing himself up so he was sitting. It made it easier to bat at the pencil.

Sam grinned, both for the complaints and for Dean's relatively mellow reaction to the poke. Just a few weeks ago, his older brother, shrank by a curse to under four inches tall, had bolted from him, unable to cope with the sheer size of everything around him. Now, things were strained, especially between Dean and John, but between the brothers life was settling back down to normal.

"We've never had AC here before," he reminded Dean. "And just last night you were complaining about how cold it was!"

Dean huffed in aggravation. "It _was_ cold last night!" he insisted mulishly. "But now it's so hot I can barely breathe in here." He kicked out both legs, spreading himself out on the table again.

Sam frowned as Dean started ignoring him once more. As strange as it was to hear his cursed brother complain about the heat instead of a chill when there was none, Sam could understand it. Dean's curse had hit while he was wearing his regular jeans and outfit. He didn't have any shorts to strip down into. He _could_ walk around in boxers, but being so vulnerable like that chafed at Dean. Small was bad enough, he would refuse to make himself more vulnerable.

"Be right back," Sam said distractedly, pushing himself up from the table.

Dean was nearly a puddle on the table again, barely raising his hand off the surface to attempt a wave before flopping it back down. Sam smiled fondly at that, then left the room. He had a plan.

* * *

Ten minutes and three closet raids later, Sam was finally able to call his plan a success.

It wasn't _exactly_ what Dean was pining after, but considering that Sam, a ten-year-old kid with no current access to transportation or an adult, had to come up with it, he'd need to deal.

"Here we are!" Sam declared, plunking down a fan a few inches away from Dean and then setting up a second, larger fan for himself. He gathered up work and put that on the counter out of the way, and went searching for an outlet.

Dean sat up in a hurry at all the earthquakes, staring wide-eyed at what Sam had come up with. A small grin snuck its way onto his face.

"Where did you _find_ those?" he asked, scrambling to his feet to look over the small fan that was nearly _his_ size.

Sam's head popped into view from the floor. "Bobby's got all kinds of stuff like that hidden away in his cupboards," he told Dean smugly. "Did you think I just sat around all day when you were playing around with the cars outside?"

Dean shook his head, bemused. "Figured you just read all day," he responded.

Sam found an outlet, pulling out a plug for one of the lamps and taking over both sides with the fans. The one next to Dean sputtered to life, creating a cool breeze that ruffled his hair.

He barely noticed Sam returning to turn on his own fan, too busy positioning himself blissfully in front of the cool air. This new size might suck at times, but at least his little brother was just as reliable as he'd always been before.

"This is your best plan yet," Dean said, stretching his arms up to get as much air as possible.

* * *

 **A/N**

My half of a sketch trade request with kindii! (Trades are not open otherwise)

 **Timeline:** Sam is 10, Dean is 14; a month after Dean's curse.

 **Word Count:** 724

 **Warnings:** None

Commissions are open!


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